TOMORROW
by with the monsters
Summary: Teach me gently how to breathe. - —next gen drabbles.
1. rosescorpius

**a/n**: so I'm shamelessly stealing this idea from Aimy (who wrote me the most superb fic in the world, a TeddyMolly, called _Sky of Diamonds _which _everybody _should read because it is a thousand shades of wonderful). and starting a collection of my drabbles from the Drabble Tag over at the NextGen Fanatics forum.

She's right, trying to write any Next Gen collection leaves you rather drained of inspiration after a while. Relativity is still running strong, I swear it, I just need a break every now and again.

* * *

-;-

**rosescorpius**, bubotuber pus.  
_requested by _RoseScor90

-;-

* * *

The day Rose Weasley got covered in Bubotuber pus was not particularly exceptional in any other way. She got up, got ready for school, went to breakfast, argued with Malfoy, went to lessons, argued with Malfoy, went to lunch, argued with Malfoy, went to Herbology, and argued with Malfoy.

Just like every other day.

Except today, naturally, she was continuing her argument with Malfoy over a Bubotuber plant as Al sat in the seat next to the aforementioned blonde-haired git, his head down on his arms as he tried to block their bickering out. You'd think he'd be used to it after five years of being in Gryffindor with the pair of them.

"You're wrong, Malfoy," Rose informed him firmly, trying to stab a wriggling Bubotuber pod with her knife. "Like _always_."

"I hate to disappoint you, Weasley," Malfoy replied calmly, knifing his pod expertly on his first try (the bugger), "But actually, _you're _wrong."

This was the usual tone of the arguments. Except, this time, he was really getting under her skin for reasons she couldn't fathom (probably PMS or something), so she stabbed her knife firmly into the desk and was about to launch into a full-on tirade at him when Al suddenly leapt into action and made a grab for a Bubotuber pod that appeared to be making a bid for freedom off the edge of the desk. Two seconds later, the pod was stuck by a knife to the table, and Rose was covered in pus.

The only thing that made it worth it was that Malfoy couldn't keep his eyes off the way the pus made her shirt almost entirely see-through until she was given permission to go and change. Thank heavens she'd remembered not to wear her pink dotty sheep bra.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	2. victoireOC

-;-

**victoireOC**, therapy.  
_requested by _xrawrDINOSAURx

-;-

* * *

He's tall and kind of lanky, and his hands are gentle and the touch of his fingers is like magic and starlight and extreme therapy all at once.

(Is it even possible to fall in love with one touch?)

His name is Matthew, she finds out later, and he has this one curl that falls into his eyes that he keeps brushing away impatiently. She's dying to do it for him, but that might be a bit familiar. He's in training to be a vet and oh, yeah, did she mention that he's a Muggle? Dominique is going to be so smug, there's no doubt about it - but _Merlin _his eyes are so _pretty _and his whole body is all about fun and laughter and kindness, and she's sure she's said something about his touch already.

When he kisses her, her hands are in his hair and _sweet Godric _his are everywhere and they make her feel like just melting right into the ground.

"You're beautiful," he whispers against the delicate pink shell of her ear, and she smiles and her hands twist in his curls.

"So are you," she replies, and it feels like all the magic in her veins floods to the point where his lips meet hers as her world explodes into colour and desire and the soft, therapeutic feel of his hands on her back.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	3. lilyteddy

-;-

**lilyteddy**, milk tea.  
_requested by _limegreenrocks

-;-

* * *

She's always been about difference, has Lily. She's all redred hair in contrast to her two black-haired brothers, and _ohso_Slytherin in this house of Gryffindors. She's bold and she's daring and she's _seventeen_. And, um, awkward, because he's totally too old for her.

She drinks vodka from the bottle and parties at Muggle clubs because he thinks she honestly believes that being a Muggle is so much easier than this life of jumps and starts and magic and surprises. Where all her friends have cats and rats and owls, Lily has her duck. And where they've got broomsticks and invisibility cloaks and remembralls, she's got an iPod. She drinks milk tea instead of gillywater and only does homework every three weekends and... she's seventeen.

(And is it just him, or is he thinking around in circles?)

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	4. freddominique

**a/n**: warning - cousincest abounds for the next few drabbles (we're going through a phase, okay?). But you know, it isn't even illegal here in Britain.

But I'm going to say my usual little speech anyway: if you don't like cousincest, _please don't read this_. Go and find something else you prefer. If you leave a review complaining about it I won't even dignify it with a response.

* * *

-;-

**freddominique**, library.  
_requested by _thethymeisright

-;-

* * *

He finds them snogging in the library. And, you know, it's not that weird - a lot of people snog in the library, it's a good place to come because you can get yourselves lost amongst the maze of books and it is very unlikely that anybody will find you.

But he finds them, and at first all he sees is a tall boy with brown hair ghosting kisses up the side of some girl's neck, while the girl giggles and tries to push him away, pretending flirtatiously. Then suddenly her eyes snap open, and his meet hers reluctantly, brown into thundercloud-grey, and her grip on Sebastian's jumper tightens and her cheeks flush and she knows she's got the same picture running through her head, of her and another boy (with brownbrown eyes and curly hair and, um, a passing familial resemblance), tumbling backwards onto his bed, her clothes somewhere on the floor and his not much closer, their lips attacking each ferociously and desperately because that was it, that was their one chance, wrapped up in a frenzied storm of kisses and endearments and fierce, terrible silence.

_(_"We're _cousins_, Dominique."_)_

_(_"It's not even illegal here."_) _

Dominique mouths '_I'm sorry_' over Sebastian's shoulder.

Fred just turns and walks away.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	5. scorpiusdominique

**a/n**: oops, I nearly forgot about this one. Which is, obviously, _not _cousincest.

* * *

-;-

**scorpiusdominique**, blue moon.  
_requested by _PrincessPearl

-;-

* * *

He finds her sobbing in a dark corner of an abandoned classroom, and he's never been good with crying girls, okay, so don't hate him for trying to sneak away.

"Malfoy?" she asks, squinting slightly through tear-blurry eyes, her voice terribly small in the arching darkness of the empty room, "Is that you?"

"I was just -" he begins, but he doesn't get any further than that because all of a sudden she's lifting her head from her knees and he sees something that he probably should have noticed the minute he walked in and "- you cut your hair."

She nods quietly, her cheeks stained with the tracks of her tears, short red tendrils dancing about her cheekbones. He folds his arms in the doorway and examines her, the light from the corridor falling onto her slim form and catching the spark of silver in those greygrey eyes, her face dreadfully young with her hair so short. It's not as short as Jemima Peakes', he has to say, which is almost like a boy's - but it's shorter than Lucy's and it doesn't even graze her shoulders and it's a very dark red in the torchlight and the moonlight and she looks kind of... kind of like a fairy or something. (He's not great at this whole figurative language lark.)

"I like it," he ventures eventually, and she raises her pretty little face to gaze up at him in disbelief, "You look very... very _French_. You should get a beret or something, it would look good."

She looks like she can't decide whether he's complimenting her or insulting her, but he looks kind of genuine and so she smiles, very slightly, and then clambers to her feet and wipes her nose on her sleeve and mutters a thank you as she slips past him and out into the corridor, pausing for just a second.

"The day I wear a beret is the day the moon turns blue," she informs him with a long-lashed wink, before disappearing into the yawning cavernousness of the school. Scorpius watches her go, her newly-short hair swinging behind her, and smiles slightly to himself before turning to continue his journey to the kitchen.

The next day she wears a beret to breakfast.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	6. jamesOClouis

**a/n**: this one's not cousincest either. This is getting mildly embarrassing.

* * *

-;-

**jamesOClouis**, fairest.  
_requested by _xrawrDINOSAURx

-;-

* * *

He has been poking her for a good five minutes and she hasn't even noticed.

"Jen-_ny_," he says petulantly, breaking her name to show his full displeasure, and she doesn't even turn away from admiring the boy she's been ogling all through dinner. "C'_mon_, Rogers, you're supposed to be helping me with my Potions."

"Why am I even friends with you, Potter?" she inquires rhetorically, finallyfinally turning around to face him, and James grins broadly and plonks his Potions textbook down in front of her, shoving a quill towards her none-too-subtly.

"Because I'm handsome and witty and amazing?" he suggests, and she raises one eyebrow with a dramatic sigh and her eyes slip helplessly back to Louis at the Ravenclaw table, who is sitting surrounded by girls and looking terribly pleased with himself as he regales them with what James suspects are terribly un-funny stories. James watches her watching him, and he regrets deeply that it's his _cousin _that she fancies, because he can't even go and beat the crap out of him.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	7. fredmolly

**a/n**: aha, finally a cousincest drabble! Refer to chapter four for rant. (This one's actually kind of subtle, but y'know.)

* * *

-;-

**fredmolly**, pretty.  
_requested by _RedCloakedMaiden

-;-

* * *

She's a prettypretty haze of bouncing red curls and sparkling hazel eyes, always wearing a faint aura of mischief and a cheeky smile. She's got the art of looking innocent down to a fine art, and sometimes he hates it and sometimes he ador- um, thinks it's pretty cool, y'know.

She bounds up to him one lunchtime by the lake, her hair sort of bound back with what looks like one of her older sister Lucy's Quidditch bandanas, curls escaping all over the place and framing her face in a shower of red ringlets.

"If James asks," she tells him, eyes dancing with laughter, pushing a strand of hair irritably behind her ear, the words spilling out of her in a near-incomprehensible rush, "I've been with you this whole time."

Fred is wiser to her schemes than to ask, and so he just nods and grins because in the sunlight she's all different shades of pretty, with the freckles on the bridge of her nose all scrunched up and her whole being screaming mischief.

"Fred_die_," she complains, tugging at his sleeve, and he just folds his arms and raises an eyebrow down at her.

"Isn't it time you started acting your age?" he inquires, and there's a hint in his voice that lets her know he's teasing. She frowns, brows flashing quickly down over glinting eyes, and she punches him once, hard, in the arm.

"I'm fifteen, I can act however I bloody want! And," she continues, suddenly flopping down to sit next to him, "I'm only a year younger than you. So you should start acting your age before I do."

Fred settles down next to her, a cousinly (_ahem_) arm around her shoulders, and together they watch the sun set over the Black Lake and bicker about important (pointless) things.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	8. roxannelouis

**a/n**: another cousincest. (Like I said, we're going through a phase.)

* * *

-;-

**roxannelouis**, guttural.  
_requested by _xrawrDINOSAURx

-;-

* * *

He likes the way they contrast, he guesses. Because when they're lying together on his bed and she's got one hand wrapped in his and they're touching down every length of their bodies, skin sliding irresistibly against skin, he's so _fair_ - all white skin and blonde hair and blueblue eyes - and she's so _dark_ - all dark skin and black hair and amber eyes - and when he thinks about it (not often) he thinks that something that looks so beautiful really shouldn't be so frowned upon.

"Rox," he says, and in the dimness of the room his voice is low and gutteral and gentle around the shape of her name, "we kind of go together well, yeah?"

She looks up at him and smiles lazily, teeth very white against the darkness of her face, and she takes her free hand and runs it down the length of his chest.

"Yeah. We kind of do."

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	9. mollylysander

**a/n**: not a cousincest! (Our phase-parade got rained on, which is probably a good thing.)

* * *

-;-

**mollylysander**, hourglass.  
_requested by _allie's hope

-;-

* * *

"Go with me to the lake, Ly," she whines, and he glances up at her with one eye almost entirely shut because she's standing with the late afternoon sun blazing right over her shoulder, her short curls like a halo of fire all around her shadowed face. "Pur-_lease_," she adds as an afterthought, breaking the word in two and shifting mercifully to the side so she's blocking the sun and he can see all of her features now, those pretty red lips pursed with annoyance. He looks her up and down, once, from where he's sitting with his back to an oak tree.

"No," he replies eventually, and she folds her arms and gives him a hazel-eyed glare that is startlingly reminiscent of her father.

"Lysander," she says firmly, and there is such steel in her voice he would be afraid if he wasn't too manly for that, "The lake. With me. Now."

"What're you going to do, beat me over the head with one of the points-hourglasses?" he retorts, and there is a brief flash of wanting in her eyes which he hastily overrides with, "And don't even think about it."

She flops down suddenly next to him, burrowing into his side as her head falls onto his shoulder, a couple of stray strands of red hair drifting to tickle his nose. She repeats "please" in a quieter voice, and he sighs and stands suddenly, lifting her easily to her feet with one hand.

"Fine," he sighs, and she squeals with delight and takes his hand and begins pulling him with all her might away from the cool meadows around the back of the castle to the lake glistening out in front of it, and Merlin knows what she's got planned - but, as he watches her dance ahead of him, short hair swinging and a smile occasionally being thrown over her shoulder at him, he thinks that maybe he doesn't really care.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	10. jamesOCalbus

**a/n**: I was hoping someone would request this pairing and I would get to it first.

* * *

-;-

**jamesOCalbus**, bat.  
_requested by _PrimroseAmelia

-;-

* * *

She's clutching a beater's bat and she looks terribly dangerous in the light of the early morning sun. James does the sensible thing and addresses her from several metres away.

"Oi, Nott!" he yells as loud as he can, and she whirls to face him, her whole face creased up with anger. James swallows and pretends that his hands aren't shaking. "It's Gryffindor practice time now!"

"Screw you, Potter," she replies matter-of-factly, swinging the bat threateningly and starting to move towards him, broomstick slung over one slender shoulder. James tries not to notice that her overlarge Slytherin t-shirt is slipping down over the aforementioned shoulder, exposing an expanse of palepale skin, and instead meets her blue eyes, which are currently sparking with irritation.

"You wish, Nott," he says cockily, and really they ought to be on first-name terms by now because hasn't she been going out with Al for six months, and best friends with Lily for _years_?

"Okay, Potter, whatever you say," she retorts wearily, and he takes a sensible step backwards as she comes close enough to punch him, "The fact that I'm going out with your brother aside, of course."

"'Course," James replies, and then he has to swallow again because now she's close and he can see the way her blonde hair turns just a little bit gold in the sunlight and her eyes really are very blue and that shoulder is still exposed and - well, it's this, always this, that has him pretending to hate her. She arches one perfect eyebrow, her whole being screaming disapproval, and then, with copious amounts of dignity, she turns and heads away into the Slytherin changing room.

James watches her go and tugs absently at the collar of his jumper. And he's not wanting to follow her, or anything - it's just a little hot today, okay?

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	11. dominiquelorcan

**a/n**: I don't really like first person. Especially when it's Lorcan. In fact, especially when it's anyone but Lily or James or Dominique.

* * *

-;-

**dominiquelorcan**, "I'm thinking like a girl again, Lysander will never let me live it down."  
_requested by _limegreenrocks

-;-

* * *

My name is Lorcan Scamander, and I am going to die today. Would you like to know why? Well, silly me, of course you would - I'm _Lorcan Scamander_. Even the queen would want to know if I was going to die.

You see, the thing is - I sort of _accidentally _set fire to Dominique's robes yesterday. It didn't hurt her, obviously, because it was harmless fire. But it burnt away all her clothes and left her standing in just a bra and knickers. Malfoy looked like all his Christmases had come early. Dominique charmed herself a quick replacement and then set to beating me to a pulp. Fortunately I escaped - hence the reason that I am now hiding behind a suit of armour and hoping that she doesn't come this way. I swear she was almost breathing poison, she was so angry.

Y'know, maybe I could take her some flowers or something, to make it up to her?

Merlin, I'm thinking like a girl again. Lysander will never let me live it down.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	12. jameslucy

**a/n**: the cousincest parade restarted with a vengance last night. Be prepared!

* * *

-;-

**jameslucy**, knife.  
_requested by _Bethhhhhhh

-;-

* * *

She gives him those _eyes_ and, Merlin, he's a dead man. Because she's just so pretty and so loving and so _related_, damnit.

The time he spends with her is the only time he's quiet. They sit together with their legs hanging over the edge of the Potter's roof and the breeze is toying with the both of them, lifting up her blonde curls and splaying them out, the odd tendril whipping up to caress his face. He likes the contrast between his black hair and her golden, and often they lie out on the grass of the garden, head-to-head, staring up at the clouds and spotting shapes in them, and she reaches up and takes his hands and the position is kind of uncomfortable but with her hands in his, it is _heaven_.

Usually he's loud and raucous and he's always in trouble - but with her the whole of him is at peace and they don't really talk much. Sometimes they sit to the edge of a massive Potter-Weasley gathering and she leans her head against his shoulder and he drops his against hers and the rest of the family secretly marvel at Lucy and her ability to quieten her crazy cousin James with the simplest of touches.

He pretends it's all just family love, because it's easier like that. He pretends that every _look _Lorcan Scamander sends her isn't a knife into his heart. Because this thing between them, it can't ever work out, and he just needs to accept that and _let go_.

It's funny (not really), because letting go is always much harder than you'd think.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	13. the potter siblings

**a/n**: I liked writing this one :) The Potter siblings are great fun to write.

* * *

-;-

**jamesalbuslily sibling bonding**, grounded.  
_requested by _PrimroseAmelia

-;-

* * *

Clearly, locking all three of their children up in the house by themselves is not the best idea that Harry and Ginny have ever had. However, all three _are _grounded, and if Harry and Ginny miss this event they'll probably be ostracised from society for the rest of their lives, so they reluctantly leave the house and hope to find it still standing when they return.

Inside the house, anarchy reigns merrily. The Potter siblings are not the best at acting mature - especially when the TV remote is involved. And yes, it may be a Muggle device, and it may be a lot more than most wizrding families have, but that does not deter Albus from clinging doggedly onto the remote, his body hunched over to protect it so he can watch Total Wipeout, Lily hanging off his back with her arms around his neck in an attempt to get him to give up the remote.

"Albus, _now_," she commands fiercely, and any other male would wilt in terror but Al has never been scared of Lily before and he's not about to start (showing it) now.

"No way, Lily," he retorts, collapsing backwards onto the sofa and effectively sitting on her, pinning her between him and the cushions as she screams swearwords that a thirteen-year-old probably shouldn't know and furiously wriggles to try to get free.

"My dear siblings," James announces, arriving in the sitting room and wearing a dignified expression, "Could you not just agree so I can get back to my plotting in peace and quiet?"

"Piss off, James," the two chorus in synch. Naturally, James takes affront at this, and hurls the nearest cushion at them. Lily gets her arms free from behind Al to throw it back, and it catches James off-guard, belting him in the stomach. He lets out an 'oof' of surprise, and then his expression darkens, and he rolls up his sleeves. The other two get up and start squaring up to him.

Out at their event, Harry and Ginny are both sweating with fear, unable to remember nights when leaving their kids home alone hadn't been such a nightmare.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	14. albuslucy

**a/n**: more cousincest, only I can't remember which chapter I ranted in so you'll have to find it yourself I'm afraid!

* * *

-;-

**albuslucy**, little red riding hood.  
_requested by _RedCloakedMaiden

-;-

* * *

She wears this little red coat that's more of a cape, and it sets off the flush of her cheeks and the gold of her hair to perfection, and in the freezing air of the meadow she's kind of like a fairytale, a veritable Little Red Riding Hood.

"Aren't you cold?" she inquires as he sits next to her in his jeans and leather jacket, trying to pretend that he's not shivering because if there's one thing you don't do when you're with your Weasley cousins it's admit weakness. They're watching the others play Quidditch, and he's sitting out because he's got a bad leg and she's sitting out because she hates the sport.

"Nah, not really," he replies nonchalently, and she makes a tutting noise worthy of their grandmother and takes his frozen hands in between her mittened ones, pulling them into her lap and rubbing them gently to keep them warm as she keeps her eyes fixed on the Quidditch overhead, expression full of concentrating as the Quaffle passes so rapidly between James and Dominique that it's almost a blur.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, Al liking the feel of the soft wool of her coat and the suede of her mittens against his hands, and he lets his head fall back against the tree they're leaning against as hers drops onto his shoulder. He breathes in the honey-scent of her hair and lets it out slowly, trying not to think of the way that Lorcan Scamander looks at her, but rather of the way her face looks when she's writhing beneath him, divested of clothes entirely, his lips at her neck and his hands on her bare skin, in those snatched periods of frantic passion and murmured endearments when they pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist - there's just them, his bed and her voice, stark and impossible and desperate.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	15. louislily

**a/n**: more cousincest. I'd apologise, but I'm not really sorry. And it's my house play tonight, so I'm kind of dying of nerves. On the bright side, we get loads of chocolate - and, oh, our costumes are just the sexiest things _ever_ (lolno).

* * *

-;-

**louislily**, electric.  
_requested by _PrincessPearl

-;-

* * *

Her touch against his bare skin is like electricity, sparking and dangerous and terrifying. Her eyes peek at him from beneath the fiery halo of her hair, green and clouded with lust and very dark in the dimness of his room.

"You shouldn't," he says, but there's a break in his voice and line of _need _and she doesn't even acknowledge that he's spoken, just tugs off her shirt and then clambers back up his body, pressing her lips against his hungrily and ferociously. And this is the thing, with Lily - she's consuming, selfish and dynamic and so terribly, terribly brave that it almost hurts him to think about sometimes.

"Don't pretend you don't want it, Louis," she teases, her voice husky and her lips bruised when she lifts her head to gaze down at him, one finger toying absently with a lock of his fair hair, her other hand making circles against his ribs, "You know you do."

He sighs and his fingers reach up to toy with the emerald-studded locket around her neck, and her eyes slide shut as his fingers trace a wondering line up the sharp angle of her jaw and into her hair, tangling there and anchoring him in place. She's so _Slytherin_, he can't help but thinking, and yes she might quite possibly be the bravest person he knows but whatever it was that the Hat saw worthy of Slytherin is there, lurking in her eyes and the controlled, wild grace of her movements as she descends to attack him with another kiss, her body lithe and supple against his as they twist together beneath the sheets.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	16. lilylysander

**a/n**: So our trip to Sicily a while back involved a limerick competition, and I was looking at photos earlier and got all nostalgic and... well, let's just say that the word "spiral" is impossible to work into a limerick and still have it make sense.

* * *

-;-

**lysanderlily**, spiral.  
_requested by _PrincessPearl

-;-

* * *

There once was a girl called Lily,

Who was most vexingly silly,

She spiralled in lard,

Lysander laughed hard,

So she chased him right over the hilly.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	17. mollyscorpius

**a/n**: Been a while on these, I do apologise. Have a couple to show how sorry I am!

* * *

-;-

**mollyscorpius**, forgotten.  
_requested by _ListenAndBelieve

-;-

* * *

He notices her because she's the one that everybody forgets. Which kind of doesn't make sense, but you know what? He's Scorpius Malfoy and nothing makes sense with him. He's the pureblood Gryffindor, the arrogant little lionheart who argues with anything that moves and likes reading more than Quidditch. He uses Muggle swearwords because they're somehow infinitely more satisfying and only bothers turning up to about three of every five lessons.

And then she's Molly Weasley (the second, if you please) with the sweet smile and the will of iron, who seems adorable right up until you realise that she's got you backed into a corner with her wand at your throat. Of all the Weasley rabble, she's the one he'd have down as the Slytherin. But that honour goes to Lily Luna Potter alone, and he never works out why until he finds Molly squaring up to four enormous Ravenclaw Seventh Year boys, expression thunderous.

"You better apologise for what you said to Lucy," she threatens, and Scorpius hesitates around the corner because, in all honesty, she might be only fifteen but bloody hell she's terrifying, "Don't make me tell you twice."

"What are you going to do, short stuff?" one boy inquires patronisingly, and about five seconds later he's out cold on the floor and Molly is standing gazing at the remaining three with a somewhat superior smirk on her face. Scorpius, without a word, comes out of the shadows and stands next to her, ignoring her look of surprise, and the three boys take one look at the Head Boy and run like hell.

Molly turns to him, and he can already guess the words that will come out of her mouth (-"I didn't _need _your fucking help, Malfoy"-) so he just gives her a wink and a nod and pockets his wand. She tries to look unimpressed but the torchlight gives away her blush, and Scorpius grins as he saunters away. No, Molly Weasley II will never be forgotten as long as he has a say in it.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	18. lucy

**a/n**: I probably should really be working on my piece for misswhiteblack's Next Gen contest. Oops.

* * *

-;-

**lucy**, all's well that ends well.  
_requested by _RedCloakedMaiden

-;-

* * *

And maybe when her mother walked out, she didn't realise what she was leaving. She thought she was leaving two happy daughters and a happy husband, content with each other, understanding her need to be with her new love.

Instead, she left a broken man, a despairing daughter and a young woman who had to turn around and become the mother of the household.

And Lucy tries. She holds it together, cooks meals for her father when he forgets to eat and braids Molly's hair in the mornings and sits her down and tells her to get her act together when she decides to go through a rebellious stage. She tries and tries and tries and sometimes she feels like screaming, because there's nobody trying for her.

And, you know, sometimes if things don't end well, there's nothing you can do about it.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	19. jamesrosefred

**a/n**: been a while. Sorry about that.

* * *

-;-

**jamesrosefred**, animal.  
_requested by _Vanity Sinning

-;-

* * *

Even by Weasley standards, this is messed up, okay? And Weasleys practically _define _messed up. Darling little Lily with those dark circles under her eyes and that vocabulary of swearwords reserved just for paparazzi, sunny blonde Lucy with the weight of her household on her shoulders and no mother to help her, guileless Gryffindor Albus without the guts to admit that he likes his best friend Scorpius. Actually _like_-likes him - but you get that, don't you? No need to spell it out.

And then there's them. They're not even on a different level - it's like they're on a different _world_. Tall, handsome, Quidditch-captain James with his charismatic grin and his fuck-me brown eyes that can hit a girl from seventy paces. You're thinking there's nothing wrong with him. I know you are. But actually what you don't notice - what _nobody _notices - is the way he watches his cousin Rose when he thinks that nobody is looking. There's hunger and longing and vulnerability in those green-flecked eyes, a need like an animal for her and her body and the way she can make him feel just by being close.

But he's happened across them in the fringes of the forest, heard them inside abandoned classrooms, seen her creeping across the Gryffindor boys' dormitory when she thinks the world is sleeping... and it's only funny (in that uncomfortable, hysterical sort of way) because it's always Fred losing out on the girls to James - except from when it comes to lovely, innocent-eyed Rose who's far too smart and far too related. And it shouldn't even matter, because they're _cousins_, but she's Rose and he's James and it does.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	20. mollylorcan

**a/n**: guess who's been on a drabble-writing spree?

* * *

-;-

**mollylorcan**, weakness  
_requested by _swirling-summernotes

-;-

* * *

In the days intervening he begins to regret it. Not a lot, but a little bit. Like a weakness that seeps in through the cracks of his blameless facade. In between missing the way her hair smells he remembers the way her sister sounds when she says she loves him. In between needing to hear that noise she makes when he draws circles at the base of her spine he hates himself for doing this to Lucy.

But the thing with Molly is that she's not Lucy, and she won't ever be. She's younger and braver and brighter and it's like when she walks in the room she's rerooted the whole of gravity so that everybody turns towards her. Lucy's pretty, Lucy's kind and sweet and great with children, and he _loves _her. But Lucy isn't Molly. And Lucy can't ever know where he goes when he tells her he's got a business trip. She can't ever know he apparates straight to Molly's apartment block and takes the stairs three at a time and doesn't even have to knock before she's flinging open the door and crashing to him like a wave on the shore, blazing and desperate and lovely.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	21. scorpiusmolly

**a/n**: Molly love. Damn it I love it when people go on Molly-loving sprees.

* * *

-;-

**mollyscorpius**, gratitude  
_requested by _EllaBethh

-;-

* * *

He loves the way she looks early in the morning. She always sleeps on her right side, see, and so every morning that adorable halo of red curls is rumpled and flat on the right side, and the first thing she does when she gets out of bed is drag her small fingers through her hair irritably. She tugs at a couple of knots and then shakes her whole head until her hair is back in order. They're still a mess of course, but she likes them that way. He likes them that way too. Well, he likes everything about her, but he likes that especially.

The next thing she does is turn to him and give him that smile that just says everything, and he returns with a smile that doesn't say nearly as much, but it mostly says _thank you_. That smile is his way of showing his gratitude to her and for her for being who she is.

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	22. mollylorcanlucy

**a/n**: I wasn't kidding. People went crazy for Molly. It was kind of awesome, actually. Even though I think I stole all the Molly pairings. Oops.

* * *

-;-

**mollylorcanlucy**, casualty  
_requested by _EllaBethh

-;-

* * *

Destruction is easy, and casualties are endless.

He destroyed her, when he left. Off on some bullshit quest for her big sister - Merlin, her _big sister_. Sweet Lucy with the pretty blonde hair and the way of looking at the world that makes everything just seem okay. And there's Molly, left in the shadows again, the last Weasley with the overused name and the second-hand smile. She watches them from her lonely corner and she wishes endless pain and endless happiness on the pair of them.

(It's quite easy to be contradictory when your boyfriend has dumped you for your sister.)

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	23. teddymolly

**a/n**: I just got really confused because I thought 'p' came before 'o'. Time to relearn the alphabet.

* * *

-;-

**mollyteddy**, worthy  
_requested by _swirling-summernotes

-;-

* * *

She's not the girl who's worthy of him. She's not blonde-haired or green-eyed or tall or slender or graceful. She's Molly, and she's got short red curls that frizz up in the heat and she's probably the most unnaturally short person _ever _and she's bold and daring and she always puts her foot in it without meaning to. She might have the prettiest pair of hazel eyes you ever did see but it's not like he's ever going to get close enough to see them properly, so what does it even matter?

He always hugs her when he sees her, because that's the way their friendship works. But she knows half his mind is on Lily and the other half is on Victoire and she's rubbish at maths but she at least knows that that doesn't leave space for anybody else.

(What she doesn't notice is that his hugs linger with her and some days his hazel-ish hair is flecked with blue and gold and green, the exact same colour as her eyes.)

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	24. freddominiquejames

**a/n**: warning, cousincest. Don't like, don't read.

* * *

-;-

**freddominiquejames**, hold me close  
_requested by _narrowskies

-;-

* * *

"Hold me close," she whispers, and the words are a prayer into the pink shell of his ear as she tightens her grip on him, one hand in his messy black hair and the other tracing the bumps of his spine, "Never let me go."

He bows his lips to the soft skin of her shoulder and presses a kiss there gently, almost as an afterthought, as he lies, "Always."

Fred watches them from the doorway. They haven't seen him yet. They might do, eventually, but that's doubtful. He watches them sitting there, Dominique in James' lap, their clothes on the floor in pretty piles of sin and their whole beings lost in each other. He hates them both, but only because he loves them so. He loves James, with his wit and his arrogance, because James is his cousin. But he loves Dominique in an entirely different way. It might be her hair, so long and pretty and such a deep rare red. It might also be her eyes, so grey and stark with their ringing of thick red lashes. Or it might just be the whole of her and the way she sounds when she laughs.

He hates them because he loves them, and he leaves on silent and conflicted feet as James tells another lie, "It'll be okay, Dom. We'll make them see how we feel. It'll all be okay. They'll let us be together."

* * *

**a/n**: I'd be really touched if you liked this enough to favourite or alert, but if you do please don't do so without leaving me a review!


	25. lilyteddy two

**a/n**: lol remember when I used to update this regularly? Also if anybody has a spare moment and could check out my profile page that would be fab, I need some help.

* * *

**lilyteddy**, i forgot to use the prompt sorry.  
_requested by _WIZARDOLOGY

* * *

He is sleepy in the mornings. His hair sticks up in every direction and he leans on the edge of his desk and sips coffee out of a lipstick-stained mug. George Zabini is forever making innuendo-laden remarks about that and Lily smiles into her Slytherin scarf and doesn't say a word in response. Teddy - no, Professor Lupin, in class he's Professor Lupin - pretends not to hear and rumples his already-messy hair up further (a habit picked up from Lily's father, shut up) and manages to shape his mouth around the words he needs to teach with. At this time of day his dreams are heavy in his eyes and he is not as good at avoiding staring at her and Lily is the one who has to do all the work.

He's better in the afternoons. He is more alert, awake, dosed up on coffee, moving energetically about his classroom and making transfiguration theory actually interesting, who'd have thought it possible, and definitely being great at pretending not to know the map of freckles that bridge Lily's nose, not to know the spot on her shoulder she likes to be touched on, not to know that when she's staring at the small exposed "v" of skin at the collar of his shirt she's thinking of the marks she left on his back with her nails last night. He is perhaps a bit quick to cross the room to answer her question quietly while the rest of the class work, a bit hot-headed in his tellings-off when another student hits her with a spell by accident - but he is Teddy and hasty is practically his watchword and all in all Lily thinks he's doing rather well.

There are the moments, of course, when his hand lingers on her shoulder or his fingers brush her cheek and she can't help the way her eyes flutter shut in response and she catches Zabini or Chloe Nott giving her this _look_ like she's got "I'M HAVING SEX WITH THIS GUY" written all over her. She just scowls in return and rolls her eyes and if they catch her staring longingly after him from time to time, well so what, he's attractive, half the girls in the school moon after him.

She remonstrates with him in the evenings when she goes to him for "tutoring" for not playing the game well enough and his shoulders stiffen as he's making her coffee and he keeps his back to her for too long. He apologises when she is done talking and she cannot bear the way he can't look at her and so she crosses the room and litters kisses up his neck like the promise of sins and he turns to her and spills "sorry"s against his skin and she laughs and tugs him to the bedroom, leaving the coffee to cool on the side, and when they are done they curl up on his sofa, she in his shirt and he in his boxers, and they drink cold coffee and tease each other and things are so easy Lily wants to cry sometimes from the rightness of it all.


	26. scorpiusoc

**scorpiusoc**, cheese  
_requested by _BlueGemini

* * *

Scorpius wishes he still only knows her because she is a friend of Rose. The two seem to be forever giggling in corners, acting remarkably like infants for two girls who are usually pretty sensible. They are quite similar, really, Scorpius thinks. Both avid readers, both loud-mouthed - but where Rose is forever sticking her foot in her mouth and being inadvertently insensitive and saying the most ridiculously cheesy things because she thinks they'll be romantic, Clara Longbottom is very tactful and diplomatic and Scorpius doesn't know how she does it but she always knows the right thing to say. No matter what. It's like she's got a magic touch where she can just fix arguments by knowing what to say at exactly the right moment. The number of times she's patched his and Rose's friendship up after one of their fights is absurd.

But she's just a friend, that's all. Honestly. He doesn't think she's pretty in the mornings when she's overslept and her long dyed hair's all rumpled on one side. He doesn't find his gaze on the back of her head in Divination when he snaps out of a daydream. He doesn't watch her when she's reading, studying the way her lips mutter the words at a ferocious speed as her eyes flick from side to side of the page. He doesn't get himself into detention just to be with her. He doesn't watch the Muggle films he hears her and Rose chattering about in the corridors between lessons. And he most definitely doesn't dream of her at night and wake up aching, false memories playing in his head of the way her hair smells and the way her eyes cloud over when he touches his hand to her cheek. He just _doesn't_, okay? Doesn't. N't. It would embarrass his father if he fell for a Longbottom, it would infuriate his Head of House, Professor Longbottom. It would piss off Rose if he made a play for her best friend, and it would probably bring down the wrath of both other Longbottom siblings if he went after their sister (and since Alfie Longbottom is good friends with Hugo Weasley, only dangerous pranks could come of that). And, most of all, it would break Albus' heart if his best friend went after his girlfriend.

Scorpius sometimes thinks, in the dead of night when his guard is down and the other Gryffindor boys are sleeping, he thinks that maybe it could be good, if he went after Clara Longbottom. She and Albus could break up so Albus could admit to his feelings for Scorpius' cousin Chloe. Rose could accept, finally, that she and Scorpius are never going to be what she hopes and maybe take a second look at Tristan Edgemoore, who comes to all her Quidditch practices to cheer her on. And Clara - Clara would understand that boys can be interested in her forher, not just for better grades in Herbology or Professor Longbottom on their side to get them out of detentions. Boys who want her for the way her eyes shine when she's reading in the lamplight, boys who tease her tenderly about the way her dark eyebrows don't match her silvery dyed hair, boys who'd take her to all the Muggle salons she wanted to get her eyebrows done if she wanted. Boys who'll read aloud to her when she can't sleep at night and help her improve her poor grades by studying patiently with her. Boys who'll run their fingers lightly over skin to get her soul singing, boys who'll love her for all that she is and nothing less. Boys like Scorpius Malfoy.


	27. jameslilyteddy

**a/n**: serious incest warning right here. please don't read if you are easily offended or suspect you might be offended by the pairing. if you read this and are horrified by it then please don't whine about it because i did warn you.

* * *

**jameslilyteddy**, brilliant red  
_requested by_ matt-smiths

* * *

This is the story of a boy who loved a girl. The girl's name was Lily. She had brilliant red hair that looked a bit scarlet in the right light and soft white hands that flowed through soft white wrists into soft white arms. Her brother James was always a bit fascinated with the colour of her skin, with the almost translucent quality of it and the veins that webbed beneath it, blue and green and purple and so dark to lurk under the layers of paleness. He would spend hours in the middle of the night mapping the roads they ran and the highways they took from her feet to her heart and lose himself in the play of them at the top of her thighs and in the hollow behind her ear. He'd breathe over them and imagine them writhing like the snakes of her house as he pressed kisses staccato along them, teasing them closer to the surface. He would touch his fingers to her hairline and trace constellations there; press down gently on her closed eyelids until she complained the lights were too bright; dance his tongue along the curve of her lower lip until she opened her mouth and welcomed him home to rest.

They only ever came together when the rest of the house was sleeping and the night was black as pitch and James could hear his father snoring as he crept along the corridor towards her bedroom. She would be waiting, like always, and she'd pull him into the room and claim his mouth with hers, and James always felt a little bit sick with the horror of it - but, Lily and James, they _belonged_ together. They would _always_ belong together, in this lifetime or a past one or any future ones to come. He reasoned with himself and talked himself away from the reality of his sister's waist between his palms, and he'd number the piano keys of her ribs, _tap_, _tap_, _tap_, turn cartographer to decipher the pathways of her arteries and heat the slope of her ankle with his breath.

When they moved together in the darkness, James liked to pin her slim wrists with his hands and feel the pulse beating there, one-_two_, one-_two_, to watch her eyelids flutter shut and press kisses to them, to drop his head to the point where her neck met her shoulder and groan his feelings into the hollow there. In return she'd lock her thighs around him, raise angry purple marks on his neck, pant "_fuck_" until she couldn't bear it any more. When she made that special noise that James knew she was millimetres from oblivion, he'd kiss her the hardest possible, take the name she cried into his mouth to trip along his tongue and dance down his throat, swallowed and unheard.

Because he knew the name was "_Teddy_", not "James".


End file.
